


Don't fear the Reaper

by Thighz



Series: Here be Demons [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Body Horror, Death, Headspace, Horror, M/M, Old Age, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Priest Jack, Sexual Content, mentioned McHanzo, sorta - Freeform, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/Thighz
Summary: Put your head down boy and keep your knees on the floor. Don’t fear the reaper knocking at your door.Jack doesn't realize those words are his future.





	Don't fear the Reaper

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Jack to my Gabriel: [Kitty](https://twitter.com/jockstrap76)
> 
> Who read the Mchanzo companion to this and immediately went 'When do I get Reaper and Jack?' 
> 
> To you, my dear.
> 
>  
> 
> _Enjoy_

 

 

 

 

 

 

_ Put your head down boy and keep your knees on the floor. Don’t fear the reaper knocking at your door. _

 

 

Jack startles awake at the crack of thunder that shakes the foundation of his home. His room is cold and it seeps through his white turtleneck to chill his skin. He can hear the rain pounding against the roof and windows, an angry lash of wind sending branches to scrape at glass and wood. The room is dark and the view through his window is even darker.

He reaches to his right for his cellphone and fumbles with it under the flashlight comes to life. A quick trip to the light switch by his bedroom door confirms his suspicions that the power is out. A sigh wheezes out of his chest as he uses the light on his phone to guide his steps down the hall to the staircase.

It plunges into a black abyss. He flicks the light to illuminate each step as his socked feet take him down to the bottom floor of the house. His front door greets him on the last step and he takes a left into the massive kitchen. He digs around in a drawer by the laundry room opening and retrieves two candles and a box of matches.

A rumble of thunder vibrates the air as he slips through the foyer and into the living room. His toes hits the edge of a chair and he hisses, letting out a string of words his father would wash out with soap. He finds the fireplace with the phone and sets it light up while he gathers wood and kindling.

It takes a good ten minutes, but soon he has a bright fire and the candles lit on the mantle above it. The cross sits proud in the shadows above the fireplace. 

Jack turns away from it to face his living room. The scattered, worn down chairs and short pews he fetched from a church garage sale are in the same places his last group left them. His tiny music holder where he stands for his sermons is on the north side of the room with a massive bay window behind it. The fire’s muted light shows him the aggressive slap of rain against the glass.

He moves around the room to a linen closet and gathers up a knitted afghan. Then drags the largest second-hand chair he can and drags it to rest near the fire. He settles down in it, curling his knees up and tossing the blanket around himself until only his head is visible.

The rain carries on outside, heedless of the inconvenience it’s placed on his homes ability to keep him warm. Thunder growls and snaps around him, too close for comfort. He closes his eyes and waits for the fire to warm his face and raise the temperature of the room.

It’s feeble warmth at best and he knows at his age, he’ll surely catch a cold and end up canceling a week's worth of services while his body recovers. Not something he looks forward to posting on his front door when his people need him the most.

He checks his phone when his fingers are defrosted enough to bend. It’s half-past one. The weather display warns of flash floods and torrent rain until well past sunrise. He pulls the phone back under the blanket with the rest of him and sinks down into the chair to try and get some shut eye.

He doesn’t get far.

A knock on the front door chills his bones.

He turns to it, old eyes straining in the shadows the fire has cast. The foyer is naught but haunted shapes from the chairs.

A succession of patient knocks.

Jack rises from his chair, setting both phone and blanket on its seat. He shuffles across the floor to keep the boards from creaking under his weight. His eyes narrow as the knock comes again, once, then twice more. He drops to a crouch near the archway separating foyer from living room and finds the false floor board with practiced ease. His weapon of choice is a silver blade and an old revolver. It doesn’t take long to check the barrel and sheath the blade in the dip where his spine met ass.

“Who is it?” His voice is broken asphalt and age, but the question is a demand.

Another knock.

He steps closer to the door and glances down to make sure the salt line is intact.

“I’ll ask one more time.” Jack warns, “Who is it?”

“I need a place to stay.” The voice is nearly drowned out by the rain, but it’s light and pleasant, the type of voice that could sooth a ruined soul.

“It’s one in the goddamn morning.” Jack snaps, “How did you find me?” His house is unplottable. No one can see it, touch it, sense it without his permission. Without being  _ invited _ . He made sure of that when he opened his church.

“I was passing by.” The voice replies, “It’s really cold out here you know.”

Jack frowns, switching the pistol to his right hand as he reaches to unlock the door.

He opens it slowly and even that isn’t enough to stop the blast of cold wind and mist that hits him in the face. His nose wrinkles as he squints between the crack he’s created between door and frame.

A man is standing in front of his door, leather jacket zipped up to his neck and a fabric hoodie covering his head. Gloved hands are stuffed as far as they can go into the front pockets of the jacket and his jeans are stuck completely to long legs. His boots are the only waterproof things on him it looks like as the water beads down and puddles around his feet.

Jack brings his gaze back up to meet dark, curious eyes set in a face covered in thin scars and a scraggly beard and goatee combo.

Full lips tilt into a smile, “You Brother Morrison?”

Jack opens the door a tad bit wider, “Just Jack.” He waves the pistol, “I don’t trust people who show up on my porch in the middle of the night.”

“Rightfully so.” The man chuckles, “Gabriel, you can call me Gabe.”

Jack clicks his tongue, “Why are you out in this storm, Gabe?”

“I came to town to collect something from an old friend, but I couldn’t find them.” Gabriel tilts his head, “I walked around until it started raining and low and behold, I found your house when all hope was lost.”

Jack huff's, “Dumb luck.”

“Oh I don’t believe in luck, Jack.” Gabriel’s voice is hypnotic, smooth, “Only what is.”

“Not much warmer in here than out there.” Jack dodges, “Fire ain’t doing much.”

“Still dryer inside.” Gabe counters

Damn.

Jack can hear his father scolding him for turning a person in need away, but Jack isn’t his father. His father was a man of God to the very core. He didn’t believe in the things Jack saw go bump in the night as a child. Not until the day one ripped out his throat and laughed as Jack ran and ran and ran.

Even then, he’s pretty sure his father didn’t believe.

Oh but Jack did. Jack spent his entire life hunting and surviving and questioning every person who spoke to him. He shared his father's sermons, added in the myth and legends of monsters and demons and leant information to any Hunter he crossed paths with. Up until he couldn’t do it any longer. One too many injuries dropped him on the doorstep of a widow on death’s door who offered him her house. 

A church for wayward hunters.

“You can keep that gun on me the entire time I’m here,” Gabe offers, “If it’ll make you feel better about letting me in.”

Jack grudgingly opens the door the rest of the way and waits with bated breath as the man’s wet, muddy boot steps over the threshold. Nothing happens as Jack walks backwards to give the man room to shake off on the stained rug. 

Gabriel sheds his jacket first and rainwater drips from the smooth edges and plops on both rug and wood. Jack takes it from him without a word and hangs it from a hook near the door. The boots come next as he peels soaked socks from his feet and sets them gingerly beneath his jacket.

“Don’t move.” Jack warns, “I’ll go up and find you some dry clothes.”

Gabe plucks at his jeans with a wince, “Appreciate it.”

Jack goes into the living room to grab his phone and heads back up the stairs. He grabs a set of clothes from his own room, plus a pair of socks and a towel.

Gabriel is still standing on the rug in the foyer, face shadowed by the light case from the fireplace. His head turns when Jack’s foot causes the stair to creak.

Jack is stuck by how hauntingly beautiful the man is. His heart clenches and shudders as those dark eyes don’t leave his person the rest of the way down the steps.

He hands Gabriel the items and points into the kitchen, “You can change in there. Let me get you a candle.” He retreats into the living room and grabs one from the mantelpiece, before motioning for Gabe to follow him into the kitchen.

He sets it on the counter, “I’ll be by the fire when you’re done.”

“Thanks for this.” Gabriel mutters, eyes watching the fire flicker and melt the wax.

Jack nods once and returns to the fireplace.

He chooses to stand while he waits for Gabriel to get dressed and join him. There won’t be any sleep this night. He’ll be sick by sunday for sure now. No power. No heat. Old bones. Weak immune system. 

He turns the chair at an angle and takes a seat after removing the blade and setting it on the armrest.

He’s still fiddling with the gun when the wood creaks and he lifts his head to stare at his graveyard guest.

Gabriel looks good in his clothes. A simple red sweater and old army sweats and white socks. His hair is short, but curly at the top and shaved down around the sides. He looks dangerous and deadly, even in the soft, warm layers Jack’s provided.

Gabriel pulls at the front of the sweater, “A little big.” He muses, “You’re a large man, Jack.”

Jack rests the gun on his thigh, “I get it from my dad.”

Gabriel glances around the room and picks out one of the chairs to drag closer to the fire. Jack rises to grab another blanket from the closet behind him and tosses it at the stranger. Gabe catches it with a soft, ‘thank you’ and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Where are you from?” Jack inquires, determined to keep conversation flowing so he doesn’t doze off.

“Nowhere in particular.” Gabriel replies as he leans back into the chair, eyes watching Jack with amusement, “I wander.”

“You’d fit in well around here then.” Jack motions to his tiny church, “Most of my followers come and go or never return.”

“Death?” Gabe wonders.

“Most likely.” Jack nods, “They lead dangerous lives. I provide but a small service.”

A dark eyebrow lifts, “These dangerous men come to  _ church? _ ”

Jack barks a laugh, taps his fingers over the blade under his hand, “I’m a special kind of church. Though, you would know that wouldn’t you? Not just anyone can get through the mist.”

A smirk ticks at the corner of Gabriel’s mouth, “I heard a rumor.”

Jack turns his sharp blue gaze on him, “Oh?”

“About a preacher who speaks the gospel of both God and the Devil.” Gabriel slouches, mouth a full-formed taunt of a smirk, “Who guides men and women across the world in search of creatures children have nightmares about. He teaches them how to kill, to subdue, to  _ hunt _ .” A shrug of one shoulder, “Some come to ask for forgiveness, because that’s what you provide. Others come injured, broken, desperate. You fix them up and send them back into that cruel, dark world.”

Jack holds his head high, “It’s not an easy job, but someone has to fight the war.”

A scoff, “Is that what you view it as? A  _ war _ ?”

“Only when they strike first.” Jack curls his fist around the hilt of the blade, “We harm none who don’t deserve it.”

“Noble of you.” Gabriel sneers.

Jack scowls, “Who are you?”

“I told you.” Gabriel spreads his palms wide, “Passing through. I came to collect and couldn’t find the dealer.”

“Not what you’re here for.” Jack snaps, “ _ Who _ you are.”

A sad looks passes over that beautiful, scared face. His gaze drifts over to the fire and holds, “I can’t tell you that, Jack.”

Jack’s chest twists tight with anger. It boils under his skin and flexes around both blade and revolver. Gabe doesn’t look at him, doesn’t flinch even though Jack’s fury is palpable in the air between them.

“You should get some sleep.” Gabriel suggest softly.

“Not with a stranger in my house.” Jack shakes his head firmly, pulls both weapons closer to his chest under the blanket, “I’ll stay awake if it’s all the same to you.”

Gabriel smiles, silted and mad at the fireplace, “Flames are beautiful.” He murmurs, voice low and deep. Jack finds himself turning to face the glowing embers without thought, “They flicker and dance, fickle as the moon changing.” Jack’s grip slackens on the gun, his eyes squinting as the flames twist and crackle up into the chimney, stretching towards the sky, “Beautiful. Dangerous. Alive. It burns and burns everything in its path,” The orange flares red, blood red and then black as the night sky, “Until there’s nothing left but ash.”

Jack’s eyes blink, heavy and painful. He struggles, mumbling to himself to stay awake. Don’t fall asleep.  _ Don’t fall asleep. _

He fails.

 

 

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  
  


 

 

Jack dreams of ash and smoke. It swirls in the air around him, clogging his lungs and burning down his windpipe. His mouth is dry and lips cracked as he clutches his throat, struggling to breathe, trying to claw open his airway to take in anything but the ash.

He tries screaming, shouting, but nothing comes out. He can’t see through the funnel of black and grey, his eyes burn and water, dripping salt down his cheeks.

He won’t beg. Not even in his head.

He can’t remember where he was. What he was doing. Who he was with.

All he can think about is trying to breathe, struggling to take in air as his lungs collapse within his chest.

For all his praying. For all the salvation his father promised him at the end of his life. 

This was surely him entering hell.

“So dramatic.” A voice mutters.

Jack jerks awake in his chair, lungs burning as he takes a wheezing inhale of fresh, cool air. His eyes are wide when he opens them, blurry vision clearing to reveal a hulking mass of black smoke above his chair. Crimson eyes stare down at him from the darkness as it floats like dust particles in sunlight.

The rain is still ferocious outside his house. The fire is nothing but smoldering embers. The house is freezing.

Jack’s heart thunders in his chest as he stares up at the being above him, “What are you?” He croaks out the question again.

“You know.” The voice is Gabriels, but it’s not. This is grating, throaty and ruined like a burn victims vocal cords destroyed by smoke, “You know what I am.”

_ Put your head down boy and keep your knees on the floor. Don’t fear the reaper knocking at your door. _

Jack swallows, but his throat is sticky and dry.

“Why are you here?” Jack asks.

“You know that too.” Those blood-colored eyes stare down at him, unwavering and sure, and yet - 

“So why am I still alive?” Jack challenges, thrusting out his chin, fingers curled tight at the ends of the chairs armrests.

Now those eyes shift to the side and the smoke shudders and mutates into another baseless shape above Jack. The air seems to chill and ice cracks along the glass of the windows in the room.

“How long have you been looking for me?” Jack whispers.

The smoke sinks around him, cool to the touch and soothing along the back of his hands and arms. That red, red gaze locks with his and clawed, blacked fingers spread along his forearms.

“I’ve always known where you were.” An audible swallow, “I’ve been watching you for years.”

Jack twists his arms until his palms are up and he can wrap his fingers around the smoke, “Why now? Why tonight?”

Black shifts and melts and roils into an almost human shape. He can make out Gabriel’s face now, just a shadow of his handsome features. The hands on his arms glide up, over his biceps and shoulders, along the sides of his neck and they’re cradling his jaw, “I had to see you for myself. I needed to know.”

Jack swallows, tilting his cheek into the grip on his face, “Know what?”

“Why I couldn’t kill you.” Gabriel hisses, smoke seething with liquid anger, “Why I paced outside the mist every night for years without stepping through. Why every fibre of my being told me you were special. Why my superiors threatened to send me to the Nothing for killing every Reaper who tried to take you from me.”

Jack’s heart triples in time, his skin flushing and stomach clenching with a need he hasn’t had in decades, “Did you get your answer?”

“Yes.” Gabriel growls, fingers digging into the flesh of Jack’s jawline.

The kiss comes down harsh and swift. It steals his breath and sends a consuming, suffocating heat from head to toe. Jack can’t stop the wrecked, vibrating moan that he pours against Gabriel’s mouth.

Gabriel tastes like smoke and ash, he smells like petrichor and sunshine. His hands are rough as they grip and twist his head to angle their mouths for a deeper kiss. His tongue is a brand, guiding Jack’s own out to play and sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

He tries to grasp onto something of the reaper and snags the sweater he loaned him earlier. The smoke is still there, surrounding them, bracketing them until there is not living room. There is just Jack swallowed by Gabriel’s form.

His veins swim with heat. His head is fuzzy, stuffed with cotton. He feels drunk or high or something he hasn’t been since he was a teenager.

Gabriel devours him. Sinks his smoke beneath the surface of Jack’s skin and tries to build a home.

Jack cries out, hips surging.

“That’s it.” Gabriel breathes reverently across his mouth, crimson eyes haunting and bright, “Give yourself to me, sunshine.” Jack can feel him in his bloodstream, in his head, swimming through his body like a parasite, “I need all of you. All of you is mine to keep. No one can have you.”

Jack pants harshly, god, he didn’t even know he was hard. He can feel the orgasm poised at the tip of his cock. Arousal he has had no need for boils over and sears his flesh.

“Say I can have you.” Gabriel’s voice is a hypnotic, beautiful promise in the air. Gone is the grating, ruined vocals, back is the honey and sugar sweet tone that lured Jack into his trap, “Say you’re mine.”

Jack’s delirious, starving, turned on beyond imagination, “Yours.” He gasps, fingers curling tight in Gabriel’s sweater, hips swiveling into the air, “I’m yours.”

“Perfect.” Gabriel’s laugh isn’t malicious, it’s bone deep and sends tingles across Jack’s body like goosebumps.

His mouth connects with Jack’s once more and the rest of him does too. Smoke seeping through the pores of Jack’s skin and his overwhelming, bonfire and earth scent clogging his nose.

Jack comes with a strangled, wounded shout. His entire body burns with it.

Burning and burning until there’s nothing but ash.

  
  


 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  
  
  


 

When he wakes for the third time, the electric hum of his house has returned. The heater whirls on through the grates in the ceiling and Jack is in his bed. His phone is plugged into the charger on his nightstand and the window is slick with hanging ice from the cold front that swept in with the thunderstorm.

He sits up slow and careful, rubbing at the hair on his chest. There’s a smell in the air, like chili and cooking meat.

His turtle neck is gone and the pants he went to bed in have been replaced with dark blue pajama pants.

The floorboards of the old house creak under his heavy steps as he descends the stairs and enters the kitchen. The source of the smell is sizzling in a pan on top of his stove, a hand wrapped around both spatula and frying handle.

Gabriel’s still wearing the clothes Jack gave him, but the socks are gone. There’s no smoke or red eyes or the nightmarish smell of burning wood.

Jack walks across the kitchen and takes a seat at his table, “Did you make coffee?”

Gabe lifts his head and turns to face Jack, “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

Jack grunts, setting his chin in hand, “When you’ve seen the things I’ve seen in my simple, human lifetime, nothing surprises me anymore.”

“Noted.” Gabriel smirks, “And coffee’s in the pot. You have two legs.”

With a frown, Jack stands back up and moseys over to the coffee pot to fix himself a cup. He fixes Gabriel one too and slides it across the counter to rest near the Reaper’s elbow.

Gabe cracks eggs into the pan as Jack takes a careful sip of his coffee.

“What are we eating?” Jack mumbles.

“Huevos rancheros.” Gabe replies, “An old woman in California taught me before she died.”

Jack snorts, “You mean before you took her?”

Gabe shrugs, never taking his eyes off the pan, “It’s my job.”

Fair enough, Jack thinks.

“You got a phone call from a ‘McCree’.” Gabe glances over his shoulder as Jack makes the trip back to the kitchen table, “Says he’ll be by in a day or so to pick up some holy water.”

“That boy runs out of that shit faster than any Hunter I know.” Jack grouches, slumping down into a chair.

“Are you a preacher or a supply depot for Hunters?”

“Bit of both?” Jack asks the ceiling, squinting a bit, “The line blurred after a while.”

“Happens the best of ‘em.” The click of plate to table surprises Jack. He blinks and stares down at a plate of the best breakfast he’s seen in years. He’s been living off of oatmeal and boiled eggs for so long now, he forgot there were better options.

“A Reaper who can cook.” Jack muses, taking a fork that’s handed to him, “Who would of known.”

“I’m a being of many talents, Jack.” Gabe smirks from across the table.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Jack takes a bite of the eggs and groans happily.

They eat in silence, forks scraping across plates and mouths chewing and swallowing. Gabe looks so goddamn normal across the table. Like he belongs there.

Like he’s been there Jack’s entire life.

“You staying?” Jack doesn’t want to sound lonely and desperate, but he’s sure that’s exactly how it sounds.

Gabriel sighs, setting down his fork and setting his dark, beautiful gaze on Jack, “The only way I’m leaving is if you’re coming with me.” He shakes his head, “And I can’t do that.”

“I’m human.” Jack whispers, “I have to die at some point.”

“I know.” Gabe replies, “But not yet. Not now.”

Jack sinks back into his chair, belly full and house warm. He has a Reaper sitting across from him, a sermon to prepare for the evening mass, and a Hunter in need of blessed water.

“My father always told me ‘Put your head down. Keep your knees on the floor. -.”

“Don’t fear the reaper knocking on your door.” Gabe finishes with a rasp.

“Was it a warning or a prophecy, I wonder.” Jack mutters.

Gabe stands up and gathers their empty plates. Jack watches as he turns on the sink and starts scrubbing at the dishes.

Hm.

Guess he’ll never know.

 

 

  
  


-0-0-0-0-0-

 

 

 

_ Bonus: _

 

“You were not lying when you said he was harboring a Reaper.”

Jack squints at the two men standing on his front porch. Jesse he recognizes, with his cowboy hat and ridiculous boots and chaps ensemble. The short, stern-faced asian man with the intricate blue tattoo is new. But the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the sight of him. Years of Hunting and seconds senses -

“Oni.” Gabe grunts at his shoulder, “You’re fucking an Oni? Really, Jesse?”

“Hey!” Jesse protests, pointing an angry finger between the two of them, “At least I’m not sleeping with the literal personification of death!”

“What do you need, McCree?” Jack sighs.

“This is Hanzo by the way.” Jesse frowns, waving at the man beside him, “I’ve only mentioned him every time I come here.”

“I thought he was human.” Jack hisses.

“There is a nest of shifters in my woods.” Hanzo interrupts with a glare at Jesse before facing Jack again, “Jesse is in short supply of the things we require to get rid of them.”

Jack cards a hand through his hair, “Are they causing trouble?”

“They’ve snacked on about six campers already.” Jesse shakes his head, “Wish I woulda noticed sooner.”

“It is my territory.” Hanzo holds up a hand, “My job.”

“Got a list?” Gabe holds out an expectant hand. Hanzo places a slip of ruled paper in his palm.

Gabe glances down at it before nodding and twisting around in a plume of black smoke, curling up the stairs and around a corner. Jesse lets out a strangled shout and Hanzo arches a sharp eyebrow.

Jack isn’t fazed anymore, “He says it quicker.”

“Well hell.” Jesse grunts, “Must be nice.”

Jack waves them in, “Come on. You can replenish your ammo in the worship room.”

Jesse beelines around Jack and heads for the false wall near fireplace. Hanzo stands beside Jack as they watch him pick through ammunition boxes, muttering to himself.

“Any reason you’re here in the states?” Jack asks, casual as can be.

“I like the wooded areas here.” Hanzo replies, “I keep to myself and I am not bound by my clans traditions.” His eyes never leave Jesse, “My home is here.”

Jack nods, satisfied with the answer.

Gabriel returns with a green bag full of the listed items and hands them to Hanzo, who tosses it over his shoulder.

“Are you ready?” He asks after Jesse.

“Yup.” Jesse holsters peacekeeper and clips the spare ammo pouches shut. He presses the false wall back into place and joins the three of them in the foyer, “Thanks again, Jack.”

Jack nods, hands in his pockets as they walk the Demon and the Hunter back to the porch, “Anytime.”

“Door’s always open.” Gabriel offers.

Jack glances at Hanzo, “To both of you.”

Hanzo gives a deep, traditional bow, “My thanks.”

Jack watches the two of them disappear down his walkway and into the mist. A palm, heavy and warm settles at the base of his spine, “Are you hurting?”

Jack sends Gabriel a sad smile, “More often than not these days.”

“I would ease it, if I could.” Gabriel brings their mouths together in a gentle brush of a kiss.

“It’s alright.” Jack murmurs into the kiss.

He’s not afraid of death. Even though it lives in his house and sleeps in his bed and loves him with every fibre of its being.

Jack is not afraid to die.

He is afraid of leaving death behind.

  
  
  
  
  


**End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> (I also realize this title has been used a thousand times, believe me, but I couldn't pass up this opportunity.)
> 
> Thanks for the continued support, comments, and kudos! Ya'll are amazing.


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